


my dear boy 🎁

by 8glassesofmilkin3minutes



Series: my dear boy 🎁 [1]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Canon, a gift for nix, on the rwrb discord server holiday exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22048378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8glassesofmilkin3minutes/pseuds/8glassesofmilkin3minutes
Summary: Henry surprises Alex on Christmas bc they’re cute & can’t get enough of each other
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Series: my dear boy 🎁 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073516
Comments: 23
Kudos: 290





	my dear boy 🎁

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moderngenius94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moderngenius94/gifts).



Henry taps his fingers on his thigh, the giddiness rising in him again at the thought that he was able to pull this off.

Most of the Christmas festivities took place on Christmas Eve, and after the luncheon earlier today, he left just late enough from Sandringham that it might have seemed to his grandmother like he was turning in for the night. He hadn’t been sure he’d be allowed to do this. He was almost positive he wouldn’t, so he checked with his mum, the thought of which would’ve been laughable this time last year. She was hesitant, but miraculously, allowed him. She’d seemed supportive. Almost… conspiratorial.

He didn’t get it. Alex was supposed to be the impulsive one, Henry the one holding him down. Henry knew he should lay low; the emails weren’t old news just yet. The damage wasn’t going to undo itself. But he still had a heady need to be with Alex as much as possible, and he could finally do it without—or at least with less—sneaking around. So, he got Shaan to book him a flight. Perhaps he takes more after his mother than he realized.

Maybe this was a bad idea, he considers for what definitely isn’t the first time today. He unlocks his phone, checks the DC time (which he now keeps conveniently saved on his clock app so he can occasionally scold Alex for not getting enough sleep. It is, admittedly, hypocritical of him, but he enjoys it. Even if—okay, _especially_ if—all he gets is Alex reciprocating the concern.) The hours haven’t magically rearranged since the last time he checked. He probably won’t get there before half past midnight. Damn it, should he have left earlier? No, it was the first Christmas in years that his mother was there with them, _really_ there, not just physically there out of obligation, and as much as he wants to be with Alex, that was something he couldn’t miss. Should he have told someone he was coming? Will he be imposing? He doesn’t have to stay in the White House, he thinks, then laughs at himself. As if Alex would let him stay anywhere else. He considers texting June, but what would he say now? He’s been in the air for four hours, it’s not like they could turn back. Could they? He hasn’t even seen Alex’s family for nearly two months. He shakes the nervous thoughts out of his head and tries to block them off. The giddiness resurfaces, now at the thought of how happy he hopes Alex will be to see him. This is going to be a long flight.  
♡  
Alex feels the buzz in his back pocket and picks up the phone. “How’s Christmas with the Queen?” Alex immediately asks, not breaking his tradition of skipping greetings when on the phone with Henry. Henry laughs. “Quite the usual.” It is, in fact, not the usual, taking into account his mother’s participation and his spur-of-the-moment travel decisions, as well the fact that he has a boyfriend—an actual boyfriend! —to visit on the other side of the world. But they can get into that later, as he’s currently in a car, getting dangerously close to the White House, and Shaan still hasn’t—good lord, Shaan has _just now_ texted him letting him know that security has been informed of his arrival and he’ll be let in without a fuss. “How’s Christmas with the president?”

“Well, I am absolutely _crushing_ my family at this game of Monopoly, for one thing.”

“We’re over it, Alex!” Henry hears what is unmistakably June’s voice call from somewhere in the room.

“A bit late for board games isn’t it, love?”

And that small, pleasant smile in Henry’s voice reminds Alex, as if for the first time, as if he’s not reminded of it every second of every day, that he loves Henry. He would tell him as much if it weren’t for literally his whole family’s presence in the room around him. Instead, he opts for “The grind never stops,” punctuated by a yawn he can’t hold back, obnoxiously disproving his point. Henry laughs again, and it’s so maddeningly elegant, Alex can’t believe how unfair it is that he doesn’t get to see Henry do it. “How’s um –” Henry hears rustling, Alex moving somewhere more private, probably. “How’s your mom?”

Of course Alex remembered. Of course Alex asked. But Henry can literally see the residence now, and he still hasn’t figured out how he’s going to do this. “She’s been rather good, actually. But, hey, there’s something I called to tell you about.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. Something for you, straight from England.”

“Aw, you got me a Christmas gift, baby?”

“Well, yes, something like that. And I’ve just been informed that it arrived. You see, I heard how long it takes for regular mail to reach you, so I used my royal influence to pull a few strings.”

Henry hears sharp footsteps over the phone, echoing, tile under high ceiling. 

“They said they’d leave it at the door,” Henry is walking up the steps to the residence now, listening to the fountain gush behind him and the brisk December wind, his phone in one hand, and a wrapped, rectangular package in the other. What he’s figured to be Alex’s footsteps are rapid now, just like he’d hoped they’d become. Alex, ever curious, ever restless. “Be warned it may have gone through some rough handling.” The driver comes up a few feet behind Henry and leaves his suitcase there. Henry mouths a silent thanks. “It may require some delicate care and a decent amount of–"

The huge door swings open.

“–cuddles.”

“Henry!” Alex throws himself into Henry’s arms, nearly knocking the breath out of him, and shamelessly takes a deep inhale of his distinct Henry smell.

“Hi, Alex,” Henry says into Alex’s hair, so softly, Alex thinks he might tackle Henry to the ground for it.

“If you could just,” Alex says, peering over Henry’s shoulder. “If you could get out of my way, I have a gift to look for.”

Henry scoffs. “It’s me, you twit,” he says, keeping the package carefully tucked out of Alex’s eye line.

“Is it?” Alex asks, making a show of looking disappointed. He looks Henry up and down. 

“Underwhelming.” Henry rolls his eyes, smiling. “I was hoping for something a little more –”

He’s cut off by Henry’s lips on his own, and he closes his eyes, happily forgetting where he was going with that sentence, gently and fully swallowing Henry up as if it’s been a couple of lifetimes as opposed to a couple of months since they last touched each other. They pull apart, and the teasing lilt is gone from his tone when he says “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“So am I,” Henry says, slipping the package into Alex’s hands. Alex takes it and looks down at it, giving Henry a perfect view of those thick, pretty eyelashes. “Merry Christmas, Alex.” Henry glances at his sleek, fashionable watch, and Alex wonders distantly how many people it could feed. “Although it’s technically just after Christmas now.”

“Thanks, H,” Alex says, looking back up at him. Henry’s nose is turning pink from the cold, and it reminds Alex of the drunken, unforgettable memory of their first kiss. Alex kisses it. Then he grabs Henry’s hand with his free one, lacing their fingers together. “Come say hi to my family!”

Henry rolls his suitcase into the doorway, then lets himself be led (at a running pace, God knows why, but Henry is indulgent) to the second floor.

“Look who’s here!” Alex announces. Henry takes it in, Oscar and June curled up on a couch together, the president with Leo on another couch across from them, her legs tucked under her, and an older man and woman who faintly resemble Oscar sitting on recliners near the dining table. A Monopoly board and pieces are scattered across a coffee table in the middle of it all, seemingly forgotten. He’s surprised they’re all still awake, albeit drowsy-looking, and still sitting together.

“Henry!” says Oscar’s gruff voice as he raises one arm, welcomingly. Alex’s mother promptly stands up. “Henry, baby,” she says, approaching him. Henry offers a polite hand which she gently slaps out of the way. “Oh, I’ll have none of that,” she croons, wrapping an arm around his waist. He’s still processing the surprise at being addressed so affectionately. He thinks of the night Alex’s mom got reelected, Oscar calling him _mijo_. He’d googled the term later, too embarrassed to ask Alex what it meant. He remembers lying in bed that night, reading the definition, feeling something strange and fuzzy fill his chest. The feeling returns now, and his first instinct is to push it away, to not get so caught up in it. Then he remembers that this is _his_. His boyfriend, his boyfriend’s family, has taken to him with no hesitation. He’s still convincing himself he deserves to have this, but they want to give it to him, so the least he can do is accept it. Alex once told him to give himself away more often. “ _There’s so much of you._ ” So, he puts his own arm around her and hugs her—not President Claremont, but his boyfriend’s mother—back.

Now, what exactly is he meant to call her? Does he use her first name? _Merry Christmas, Ellen?_ Oh shit, how has he not asked Alex this before now? It’s barely a moment before Oscar engulfs him with the same childlike enthusiasm Alex did earlier, and he’s temporarily saved from having to figure out the name thing. And then Alex is introducing Henry to Bela and Tito, who didn’t seem to think much of this whole interaction until now, as recognition dawns on their faces.

And then all the adults are insisting Henry have a little of everything that’s been left out on the table, and he’s serving himself polite amounts, trying not to betray the fact that he’s been stress eating airplane food for the past eight and a half hours, wondering how well this surprise would play out. He’s barely touched his plate, but Alex’s family is blanketing him in hospitality and questions and–oh, there’s Alex, looking at him with his big, brown eyes and enchanting smile, holding a little square of tres leches up to Henry’s mouth, one hand cupped beneath Henry’s chin, eagerly telling Henry to _try it_ , and Henry thinks that if this is how it is, he’ll gladly spend every second of the rest of his life eating.

And then Bela and Tito have gotten a hold of him, Bela fawning over Henry’s accent and Tito, with the same gruffness but simultaneous warmth as Alex’s dad, asking Henry in broken English how soon he and Alex are planning on getting married. Henry is taken aback but trying to hide it, unsuccessfully, if Alex’s gleeful expression from across the room is anything to go by. He doesn’t give up trying to seem unfazed as he gives them his most princely laugh and explains that they haven’t thought about that yet, which is partially a lie, as Henry has definitely thought about it on his own time. Their reactions tell Henry this answer is insufficient and confusing at best.

Alex keeps listening to Henry talk to his grandparents as he tears into the gift Henry handed him at the door. Without warning, the subject turns to how they’re not upset Alex is gay—bisexual, he’s still trying to explain that to them—and how they care only that Alex is with someone who cares for him. Something about _love is love_ , and Alex hopes that this isn’t too much for Henry, that they aren’t scaring him away, because they’re his family and his family is him and Henry needs to take him completely now. But then Henry… Bless his soul, Henry, with a stubborn little push of chin, looks Bela and Tito squarely in the eyes, puts his hand on Bela’s knee and tells them he promises to do his best to give their grandson everything he deserves.

And Alex’s heart stutters so hard, and his hands take a break from destroying the wrapping paper in his lap, and he’s about to tear his eyes away, he really doesn’t mean to gawk, but Henry’s head turns to face his, and Alex is caught in the act, and they share a look Alex wants to immortalize, to press into a wax seal and keep in his pocket for eternity.

Henry shifts his eyes down momentarily to Alex’s lap, by way of telling him to keep unwrapping. It’s foolish, but Henry is proud of the job he’s done. He’s never wrapped his own gifts before, and he was determined to make this one as personal as possible, even if it took a YouTube tutorial set to half speed to help him do it. Alex peels back the last piece of paper with that typical unfiltered enthusiasm Henry keeps finding himself more and more enamored with.

It’s a book. _My Dear Boy: Gay Love Letters through the Centuries_. Alex strokes the spine, if only to give himself something to do while he works up the courage to meet Henry’s gaze again. When he does, he’s about to thank Henry, but that seems inadequate, so he mouths, _I love you_.

And Henry mouths, _I love you, too_. And then he winks, lightening the moment, and Alex is so relieved for it, a laugh escapes him with embarrassing wetness, which he coughs away. And then Henry is back to patiently listening to Alex’s grandparents translate each other’s phrases when they get stuck, and Alex is back to trying to tame his wild heart.  
♡  
“And where am I to sleep tonight?” Henry asks as they both stand in Alex’s doorway, suggestively enough that Alex can choose what he wants to do with it. His things have been taken to god knows where, probably that dreadfully pink suite he stayed in the last time he was here.

Alex snorts. “My room, of course. Unless it’s too modest and lowly for you, Your Highness?” He strokes his fingers under Henry’s collar slowly.

“Are you sure, though?” Henry asks, serious now. He looks over his shoulder into the hallway.

“No one gives two shits,” Alex replies, pulling Henry in by the arm.

“Ah, I’m sure Tito would beg to differ.”

“Oh right, well, since _Tito_ is here,” and Alex doesn’t know what to do with the fact that Henry pronounced his grandfather’s nickname perfectly in between his posh London vowels. “And all of a sudden we care about what respectable people are an arm’s length away when we fuck around,” he comes up a breath away from Henry, dragging one hand lazily across his chest. Henry’s breath hitches. “We can say our prayers and you can lie chastely by my side through the night, just two bros being dudes.”

Henry laughs. A full, gorgeous laugh, not the one Alex caught him doing earlier with his grandparents, and who is Alex fooling? It’s well past one in the morning and he can barely keep his eyes open, and Henry looks sufficiently exhausted as well, so he resolves to chase this carnal urge first thing tomorrow. After all, Henry isn’t going anywhere. Alex can’t believe how lucky he is to know that, to be able to rely on it.

They stumble into the room together. Alex collapses on his bed, undresses messily, and splays out, eyes closed (a contrast to the compact, contained way Henry usually sleeps), any half-formed intentions of a romp abandoned in the already slowing rhythm of his breaths. Henry follows, knowing he should get out of his clothes as well, but feeling the entire day hit him all at once the second he hits the bed. He’s about ready to let himself fall asleep like this, both of them still on top of the blanket, when Alex peers down at Henry’s feet and instantly pushes him right off the bed. An indignant noise escapes Henry’s throat.

“Shoes at the door, sweetheart.”

Henry stands up, grateful for the push as it’ll force him to get more comfortable, though he’d never tell Alex that.

“Miss me with that white shit,” Alex mumbles as Henry laughs and neatly lines his shoes up against the wall, rolling his socks up and tucking them in evenly. He guesses he is sleeping here, and he is not in the slightest mad about it. He takes off his own belt and untucks his shirt, lacking the energy to do much else, then notices the book he gifted Alex still in one of Alex’s hands. He slips it out from between Alex’s fingers and places it on Alex’s unbelievably messy desk, struggling to find a spot.

He returns to the bed and pulls the sheets out from under Alex, then over both of them, Alex nudging Henry’s feet, somewhat jokingly confirming his shoes have been removed. Then Henry has Alex in his arms, and there’s nothing separating him and the nape of Alex’s neck, so he takes his time observing it (Who knew the nape of someone’s neck could be so stunning?), and he _can’t_ believe Alex is his, and _because_ that’s true he can tell him that, so he does, and Alex responds softly, sleepily.  
“Me neither.”  
♡


End file.
